The Sixth School Ch. 049

With a smile, Greg allowed himself to be led inside the man's house. "Thank you, Uncle Olaf," he said calling the man by his name. The man and Roka weren't in any way blood-related. But given that the man was much older than Greg was it was expected that he add the equivalent word for uncle as a polite form of address. Given that the blacksmith was in the same age range as his father, the title of uncle would suffice, if he was older than his father but not grey-haired yet, he'd have a title that roughly translated to 'big uncle', in the reverse case, the title would be 'little uncle'. "I've been training under the healer for a while now," Greg continued before the man could start talking again. "Learning how to pick up the signs of different ailments, how to deal with the minor ones and to spot the signs of the more serious ones early enough so you can get help from the healer. I can also deal with certain injuries if they are not that critical," he revealed. "But no matter how good the training..."

"Words won't throw the spear," The blacksmith completed the saying, nodding with understanding.

In this town where hunting was the primary means of subsistence, the younger generation usually learned how to hunt both from their father and other more accomplished hunters in the town. The essence of the expression is meant to remind both the teacher and student that words can only go so far. If the student doesn't eventually put into practice what they are being taught, then it is pointless. "So I have been going around town talking to every one of my neighbors to see what, if anything, ails them. Perhaps you or someone in your house had been feeling weak, perhaps you've been having small aches that you didn't deem serious enough to go see the healer about. Maybe you got a small injury that wasn't that serious and so you let it be. Maybe there is some minor ailment that's been bothering you. So long as it's not anything too serious or life-threatening, then I believe I can help!" Greg explained.

"Wonderful," the man exclaimed with clear elation in his voice. "I've been meaning to see the healer about my hammering arm," The man said, lifting the said arm and gingerly rotating it this way and that all the while his face was scrunched up in a wince of discomfort. "But with winter drawing near and all the armor and weapons that need forging or fixing, I haven't had the time," he explained.

"When did the pain start?" Greg asked as he stood and moved to stand beside the man. Taking the large muscly arm, he moved it this way and that to test the range of comfortable motion.

"Started about ten or so days ago, but it's gotten really bad the last two days," The man answered.

"Is the pain only focused on your shoulders, or does it spread from your shoulders down through the whole arm?" Greg continued to interrogate even as he had the man flex his arm back and forth.

"It's worst at my shoulder, but the pain sometimes extends downwards to my hand," The man replied.

"Do you feel pain anywhere else or is it just focused on this one arm?" he continued.

Greg asked this and a whole slew of other questions. In truth, the answers didn't really matter to him. What was most important to him was that he cemented the image of a diligent healer in the man's mind. This was the plan that Greg had come up with. There was a whole town full of women that he could earn lust points from. Most of them, however, were hidden behind the social norms and rules of propriety that pervaded the town. Whether it was getting to them or them coming to him, it would require that he create a plausible reason that wouldn't raise the suspicion of either the husbands or fathers of those involved. That's why he'd been going from one house to the next talking to the men of the house and offering his services where needed. On this first day, Greg hadn't even shown interest in any of the women in the houses that he'd visited. Impatience would probably raise the guard of the men and cause his plans to fall apart before they'd even gotten the chance to take off. He'd first need to create the unshakable image of a healer before he could subtly progress further with his plans.

"Hmm, I think I know just the thing to help you," Greg said as he reached into a leather pouch hanging off to his side. Greg had bought the pouch from the magic shop for a hundred thousand magic points. It's name in the shop was 'the potion-maker's pouch'. It was capable of holding up to a hundred vials of potions of various kinds. Greg didn't have to rifle through it to find what he was looking for. All he had to do was reach into it while thinking of the potion he wanted and if it was there, it would come to his hand. The best part was that even when at full capacity, the weight of the pouch wouldn't increase at all.

For three months, Greg had been going on dungeon dives. Unfortunately for him, all he'd managed to get was an unending string of PUTRID performances. The reward for such performances was a whole slew of single-use, low-grade potions. Enough so that the pouch was already ninety percent full. Greg had gotten potions with a whole range of effects, from poisons, paralytics, sleep, and even aphrodisiacs. The majority of the potions that he got, however, were healing potions. When it came to mages, the effect of these potions was little more than trash. None of the poison were potent enough to be lethal. The other potions with adverse effects could be resisted by sheer willpower alone and the healing ones wouldn't do much against the kinds of things that could hurt mages. What they could heal, a simple healing spell could probably do a better job at. When it came to mundane humans, however, the things were potent enough that they usually had an immediate effect.

This was immediately put on display as a groan of relief escaped the blacksmith. Greg had poured out a minty green potion meant to alleviate pain in the affected area and rubbed it in. Greg could see the muscles on the man's face go lax as the potion sapped away all the pain that he'd been experiencing. All the while, Greg continued to rub in the potion and massage the man's arm. Even without doing this, the potion would have worked just as well. He, however, wanted to reinforce in the minds of the men that hands-on contact was just a normal part of the treatment routine. After a minute had passed. Greg took out a vial with an ocean-blue liquid inside. While the first potion was an anesthetic, this one was the true healing potion that would remedy whatever damage the man had probably suffered from his trade. This was the most important part of his plot, establishing legitimacy. No matter how good he acted the part, if he couldn't actually cure anything, his whole plan would crash and burn. As such, whenever he'd been asked to deal with any minor issue, he'd employed the use of these potions to cure the issue.

"You'll need to rest for the day and allow your body to recuperate!" Greg advised.

The man, however, was shaking his head even before he was done. "Can't do that, my boy. Winter shows no mercy to the unprepared," He argued. "The armor and weapons I'm preparing could mean the difference between life and death for one of our hunters," He went on to say.

"True, but this isn't the last winter," Greg countered. "If you wreck your body to prepare for this winter and can't do the same next winter, those same lives will still be in danger," He calmly reasoned.

His words were followed by silence as the blacksmith found himself unable to argue against his reasoning. The small frown that had been on the man's face, however, quickly cleared and a smile took its place as he turned to look at him. "Well thank the Beyond you've come along," He stated as if this resolved the whole issue. "I know that you can't keep doing this for free, so tell you what, if you keep me able to work until I'm through with winter preparations, I make you a good armor set," He offered.

A genuinely pleased smile crossed Greg's face, not because he needed the armor or anything. He could get a tier-three armor set from the shop if he so desired. Instead, his joy stemmed from the fact that, without knowing, the blacksmith had just opened the door and invited the fox into the chicken coop. Today he'd encountered the man while he was on his own. That wouldn't always be the case. "Be that as it may, you need to take care of yourself, Uncle," He replied in the tone of one who was giving in.

"Wonderful," the man stated rising to his feet. "With your help, I'll be able to hit my goals sooner than expected." The two of them moved to the door, the man ready to get back to his work and Greg ready to move on to the next house. When they pushed the door open, however, they caught sight of the blacksmith's wife walking into his compound with a large pot full of water balancing on her head. "Eniya! Where is Asha?" the man asked, for the first time, his voice sounding sorely displeased. Before Greg could work out what had garnered the man's displeasure, he'd already crossed the distance between himself and his wife and reached up to take the pot off her head. What had looked large on the woman's head, suddenly looked much smaller in the man's arms as he walked back towards the house with it.

"I send her to gather some greens to cook for dinner," The woman answered with a smile despite her husband's displeasure. Even Greg who didn't have the context for why he seemed so unhappy, could still hear the concern in the man's voice. He wasn't angry with his wife, he was concerned for her.

"If you keep coddling that girl she won't know how to take care of her own house!" the man grumbled. "Plus you know that carrying so much weight on your head always worsens your neck pain..." The man suddenly paused mid-speech as his gaze moved from his wife to Greg, his expression the embodiment of a light bulb moment. "You better thank the spirits woman," He suddenly exclaimed with joy, almost dropping the pot full of water. "Roka here has been learning from the healer about the healing arts," The man stated before launching into an explanation of what Greg was doing around town. Unable to depart now. Greg smiled and walked into the house with them.

Greg doubted that the blacksmith could pick up on both the slight dread and anticipation that were gleaming in his wife's eyes every time she looked his way. Unbeknownst to the man, this wasn't the first time that the two of them had met or interacted. Back during his father's sendoff party, she had been among the women that his mother had called on to help with the preparation for the party. Back then Greg had several title items on and through them, had managed to turn their brief interaction into one that had probably stuck at the back of her mind for a long while. And even now as she looked at Greg, he could see one part of her dreading the idea that it had all been in her head and another part anticipating the feeling should it turn out that it wasn't.

Unwilling to disappoint, Greg who'd been standing with his hands behind his back, quietly summoned the SENSUAL TOUCH bangle from his storage and slipped it on. "So when did the pain start?" Moving to stand behind where the woman was seated, Greg started another barrage of questions. Reaching into the potion-maker's pouch, Greg pulled out the pain-alleviating potion which he carefully applied to the nape of the woman's neck.

The woman was stopped in the middle of answering one of Greg's questions as a moan of relief involuntarily left her lips. The effect of the potion was immediate. Whatever pain she had been enduring for however long, immediately began to melt away as the potion did its magic. That moan immediately took on a more lascivious undertone as Greg's hands began to massage her along the length of her neck. Happy to see and hear the relief that his wife was experiencing from the pain she'd been enduring, the blacksmith was smiling ear to ear. He was clearly unaware of the erotic pleasure his wife was experiencing from what appeared to be a simple massage. Greg smiled back at the man knowing that soon enough, the man's wife would be experiencing even more pleasure from him...

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